Crazy, Too
by VintageOppression
Summary: Draco was sent to Azkaban for his crimes.Harry frees him and Draco is forced to live with his rival. While he begins to see Harry in new way,he realizes that Harry is not the same person he remembers. But then again, neither is Draco. DM/HP Slash EWE
1. Chapter 1

Crazy, Too

Summary: EWE; Draco was sent to Azkaban for his crimes. When Harry frees him, Draco is forced to live with his sworn rival. While he begins to see Harry in new way, he also sees that Harry is not the same person he remembers. But then again, neither is Draco. DM/HP. Slash.

Rated M: For language, smut and angst.

Note: I'm so sorry for being gone for so long. There are so many wonderful stories that have been posted that I am going to get to reading very soon. As always, I do not own the characters, nor am I making a profit from writing this. I have not read all the Drarry stories in existence, so if someone on this site as already written a story like this one, please tell me and I will immediately take it down. I really don't want to offend anyone. With that said, on with the story.

* * *

Insanity, Draco Malfoy realized, wasn't when the voices in your mind spoke to you, it was when they stopped and all there is to hear is the thunder of your own guilt. The whispering voice of his mother

(Draco, how could you let me die after I raised and nurtured you? I'm you're mother, Draco. How could you do this to me?)

and his father

(You disappoint me, you sniveling pile of trash. You're a disgrace to the name Malfoy.)

Had been silenced to his own thoughts. He didn't plead to his mother that her death had been an accident and he didn't beg that his father not castigate him from beyond the grave. He didn't deny their words because he knew that they were true.

He hadn't foreseen the consequences of his actions. The vanishing cabinet, oh God, the vanishing cabinet. He was the top of his year, how could he have not managed to fix it? If he had if only he had then maybe, maybe-

Draco didn't notice he had started singing to himself until his neighbor began to scream:

"The pansy- boy is singing, the pansy-boy is singing," in a tipsy melody.

He buried his grubby face between his knees and winced away from the light. Someone else screamed down the hall.

"I'm gonna kill you all, every one of you God damn mother fuckers!" The footsteps of the guards were already coming around the corner to deal with the commotion, but Draco could only hear the sound of his hysterical breathing. One of the guards must have triggered a shut down of quadrant 28, as heavy mental doors slid down in front of Draco's cell bars, leaving him alone in the flickering blue-grey light of enchanted fire.

If he had only fixed the vanishing cabinet The Dark Lord would have succeeded in his quest and Draco would not be rotting in a cell in Azkaban with only his worst memories.

Years ago, in his Third year when the dementors had tortured Hogwarts to find Potter's lunatic Godfather, the professors' had spoken a bit about Azkaban and its inhabitants. Dementors thrive on the worst of memories, they had said. But it wasn't just the Dementors, Draco thought, it was Azkaban. The prison itself. Because surrounded with dank, dungeon walls for years

(How long had he been here? Months? Years? Was there a life before Azkaban?)

drew the mind inward, and life had never smiled on Draco. He only owned memories of anguish

(I'm sorry, Father. I will never disobey you again. Please, please stop hurting me.)

and pain.

(Mother, please don't cry.)

Why couldn't he just have fixed the vanishing cabinet? He was brilliant, he mastered anything he set his mind to, so why not the cabinet?

'Was it your inadequacy, of was it your choice,' said a voice that sounded strikingly like Blaise Zambini, Blaise who had fled to southern Spain to escape the Ministry.

'I couldn't,' Draco reasoned with his own mind. 'Why would I not want to fix it? I knew what was at stake.'

'You could handle your father's death, but would you ever be able to live with yourself if you handed _him_ right over to the Dark Lord.'

'I don't know what you're talking about!

'How long have you loved him,' Blaise sneered, his voice almost singing.

"Shut up!"

"Boy," Draco looked up at the voice that spoke from the doorway so quickly his hang nail skipped across his cheek, leaving a pink trail with the occasional droplet of blood. "On your feet."

"Where are you taking me," he whispered, his voice harsh and garbled

(when was the last time he had spoken to another human being?)

as he continued to eye the guard with distrust.

"On your fucking feet you Death Eater scum!" Draco couldn't help but whimper when he was pulled to his feel roughly by his hair. His eyes watered and he stumbled when he was finally released. Before he managed to right himself, handcuffs were magiced onto his wrists, pinching his skin in the hinges'. His cry of pain was choked when a collar was tightened around his neck.

"I c-can't breathe," he rasped, pitifully tugging at his restraints. His plea was met with a harsh tug from the chains that connected to his wrists and neck. He choked again and urged himself to walk faster despite his protesting muscles. He hadn't exercised in

(years?)

And he hadn't even bothered to walk around his cell in

(lifetimes?)

It didn't matter. His memory made little sense to him these days.

"Where are we going?" He asked again, past his abused and constrained larynx. He had heard whisperers in the night, or day, or whatever half light was ever eternally cast over this place. They spoke of prisoners who left their cells and were never returned. To be torture? To be killed? To be given the dementors kiss? Likely the worst of all because even a criminal does not want to loose himself.

"Shut your dirty mouth!" Draco was backhanded and stumbled into a wall. His face stung, his forehead began to bleed lethargically where it had connected with the stones, and his air way was once again closed off. His pathetically thin knees forgot to support him and he slipped down the wall onto all fours.

"Get on your feet!" The chins tugged and he was pulled several feet across the grubby stone floor.

"I said 'get on your fucking feet!'" Draco did just that, despite his darkening vision, throbbing head and aching body. He followed when the chains tugged and managed to right himself every time he stumbled. His breaths were erratic and his vision had dimmed to the darkest shades of grey when the guards leading him stopped abruptly. Draco swallowed, or tried to. He was staring at same steel doors he had looked at so long ago it seemed beyond reckoning. Beyond that door was the warden's office and beyond that was

(freedom!)

The outside world. Which made him wonder yet again what was about to happen to him. The doors squealed open and he jumped in surprised. The light burned against his eyes and Draco threw his hands up in response even as he was pulled closer to the blind light of the warden's office. With a force that drew the breath from his lungs he was forced into a chair where the chains on his wrist and neck melded to the seat, pulling him into an upright sitting position.

"This is prisoner 27511, as you requested," Draco refused to open his eyes. The warden was not speaking to him so it hardly seemed to matter. He was a prisoner. He was a number. He was furniture. And people do not speak to furniture.

"You stated in your request," the warden continued, speaking to an anonymous third party Draco had no desire to observe. "That you wished for these matters to be permanent and quite off the records. Now, you see there we reach a problem. Because everything we do here at our institution is authorized by the ministry and is kept in our records, for their use, of course." Draco bit back a snort of sarcasm. 'Authorized by the ministry' his arse. He doubted very much that the ministry, as corrupt as it was, would stoop so low as to authorize the goings on in Azkaban. He had heard the screams. He knew what the guards did.

The anonymous third party, cleared its throat meaningfully, and Draco assumed fixed the warden with a look as he quickly continued:

"But I suppose we could come to an arrangement that would meet your requests." There was a heavy jangle as a pouch of, supposedly, galleons was tossed onto the wardens desk. Draco was terribly confused and felt more hopeless than ever before. But he dared not open his eyes against the light and make the voices and arbitrary sounds a reality.

"Well then, I suppose the matter concerning prisoner 27511 is-"

"Draco." The man in question froze. That was his name. And that voice, that voice was so familiar. Draco opened his eyes.

"Pardon?" The warden asked stupidly.

"His name is Draco Malfoy. He is no longer a prisoner at this institution, so would someone please release the collar round his neck." Draco hardly noticed when the hand cuffs and collar was taken off even though his eyes swam. All he could see was Harry Potter.

"I understand you need some insurance that I will keep him safely away from society," Harry said to the warden, never looking in Draco's direction.

"That will be necessary, yes."

'Away from society,' Draco wondered. He was away from society. What were they talking about?

"I propose a tracking spell that I might activate should the need arise. And of course-"

"That you will activate, Mr. Potter? Do you not think that we here at Azkaban have as much right to know where 27511 is at all times?"

"His name is Draco. And no I do not quite frankly." The warden sputtered indignantly. "I'm sorry. I do apologize. I can assure you, that with my track record, creating more chaos and darkness in the world is the least of desires and I would rather not have my integrity tested. I might also vouch that Draco will be kept safely away from large populations of people, and of course his ability to apparate and travel via the floo network will also be revoked."

"And might I ask, Mr. Potter. Why you have such an interest in, er, a Mr. Malfoy. You have gone through many meetings and procedures to see that he be released. And with your highly acclaimed history as you noted, he seems an odd choice." Harry turned to look at his new ward, and Draco gasped. Harry's emerald eyes were hollow. This was not the fierce rival he had attended school with, and that frightened him.

"I've become eccentric in my old age, I suppose" he said with a smile. Harry Potter could hardly have been over 25, which made Draco question how long he had actually bee in prison. "If our business is quite concluded here, my associate," he gestured to the man behind him, whom Draco had not yet seen. "Will ready Mr. Malfoy for his journey. I have some things to see to." Draco watched in awe as Harry shook the warden's stubby hand and briskly saw himself out. As he opened the door Draco glimpsed his first view of the outside world in years. It was dawn and the rosy sun was just creeping above the edge of the world.

* * *

Fairly dark opening, eh? It will get fluffyer, I promise. So please review. It would really make my day. Thank you for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. A thousand times I'm sorry. Oh, did I mention I'm sorry? Because I am. I really, really am. I recently moved into my dorm, and well, you know how it is. My lovely roommate is fun China and she needs all sorts of help with English translations, and classes are wonderful but challenging. And this chapter kicked my ass. I just couldn't bring myself to write more than a few lines a day. So I apologize for my lateness and for any ooc-ness from the characters. I'll make a few notes on that after you read this chapter. Until then, I really hope you like it, are still interested and don't hate me for my erm, lack of dedication?

I should also note the (comments) between the paragraphs weren't really my idea. I've been reading The Dark Tower series (which is amazing) and that's a common thing that Stephen King. And yeh, he's a not a brilliant writer, but he's got a bum load of books published, so he must be doing something right, right?

* * *

Chapter 2

* * *

Draco drifted in and out of sleep's wasteland, the steady hum of an engine lulling him into an uncomfortable and troubled sleep. At some point he realized he must have been drugged or cursed, he honestly couldn't remember the difference between a sleeping spell and the slumber drought. Things were

(malleable)

blurry in his memory. Alarmed, he struggled to open his eyes. It was night, wherever he was. The dark countryside and twinkling lights of homes sped past. He touched his face. No wind. If he wasn't on a broom then where-

It was then that Draco panicked, thrashing wildly. During his drug induced sleep someone had restrained him with two ropes, one running diagonally across his chest and another clenched around his hips.

'Whoa! Mr. Malfoy please refrain from around quite so much.' Draco continued to tug on the bonds across his chest.

'Where am I?'

'In a car, and if you wouldn't mind. You are making it very difficult to drive.'

'C-car?' Draco stuttered.

'Yes, Malfoy. It's a muggle form of transportation. And if you don't keep bloody still I'll be forced to do it myself.'

'Where are we going?' Draco asked in an uncharacteristically small voice.

'You'll see soon enough.'

'Who are you?' His question was met with an amused snort.

'I'm almost offended. You don't remember me?' Draco squinted.

'Weasley? George Weasley? You work for Potter now? What happened to the – the – you did something else, didn't you?'

'Yeh, but that was a long time ago.' A shadow had passed over George's face, but Draco didn't notice, choosing instead to vainly struggle against his restraints. 'Malfoy, knock it the fuck off!' So he did and they drove in silence for many more countless miles.

'Where is Potter, then,' Draco finally said. 'If I'm to be his prisoner next then where is he.' George was quite for a moment.

'Don't talk about things you know nothing about,' he finally said, in a sad strange tone.

'And why do you work for him?'

'I don't. Not exactly. We have a sort of – understanding.'

'What understanding?'

'Merlin, I thought two years in Azkaban would have taught you to shut your trap.' Draco winced and inadvertently struck his head on the window. 'Sorry,' George muttered.

'No you're not.'

'No I'm not. But you're still a murderer, Malfoy. I don't know why Harry busted you out. But you don't deserve it, so don't look for pity from me.'

'I know.' Was the small and pitiful response.

Twenty minutes later the car slowed to a crawl and Draco squinted to see what he thought was a jetty. Several cars were in line in front of them waiting to drive onto a ferry. Draco glanced at the dashboard. It was a quarter to midnight, where could they possibly go at this time of night? He was unfamiliar with muggle transportation, but he doubted there were many boats leaving for France or Ireland or wherever they were going at this time of night.

While he had been lost in thought the car had crept closer to the ferry. Draco shivered and realized that George had opened the window.

'With the car it will be 45 pounds for the both of you,' a tired man with a fading flashlight said, leaning down to talk to George. After a mildly entertaining event of paying the man they drove forward onto the ferry.

'Where are we going?' George glanced at Draco and winced.

'We should get you cleaned up.'

'Don't touch me!' Draco screamed as George reached for him.

'Malfoy, you have blood all over your face! You can't get onto the ship looking like you do.' George reached for him again.

'Don't touch me!' Draco shrieked again. George sighed and moved away from him.

'At least let me put glamor on you. You really do look like a shit.'

'I'm sorry to offend your delicate senses. I've not used a mirror in-' Draco stopped and struggled for words.

'Two years. It's been two years.'

'Two years,' he repeated in shadowed awe. While Draco wondered at the gaping holes in his memory George cast a glamor on him, darkening his hair and tanning his gaunt, pale skin, though nothing seemed to touch his haunted eyes. That could not be changed.

'We need to get out of the car now.'

'The car?'

'Blimey, you can be dense sometimes. The metal leviathan we're in!' George was already opening his door and stepping out.

'Oh, right.' Draco turned and tugged on the plastic lever, and the door remained closed. 'Weasley,' he called. 'Open the door!'

'You have to pull the lever, genus.' Several tired passers-by cast curious glances their way. A woman with long blond hair even went so far as to scowl at George's antics. But it was nearly midnight and there were not 20 other passengers on the ferry. A bit of rudeness would not single out several individuals as wizards. Though, the term had become strange to Draco and flickered in the back recesses of his mind to remind him of some semblance of his worth. He was a wizard, not a muggle. But those terms had grown sluggish.

'It won't open!'

'I'm not your bloody servant, Malf-,' George caught himself, and with an exasperated sigh stormed around the car to do battle with the handle himself. After a few tugs the car door squealed open.

'Fucking piece of shit,' he cursed, slamming it closed after Draco stumbled out. 'Never ran right.'

'I don't remember you being this violent or this angry in school.' Draco scratched the back of his head, his fingers coming away, glinting with sheen of oil. 'I think.'

'You think? I'm tired, I'm cold and I'm stuck with you. I'm sorry if I'm not fucking perky right now. Just find a fucking seat, will you? And stop asking questions. You don't understand shit.' Draco obediently nodded. They sat in silence as the engines sputtered into life and the ferry lurched into life. The horizon was indistinguishable between the sky and the sea. Everything was dark as they crossed the murky waters. Draco shuddered.

He hadn't been able to see anything when he was shoved into his cell in Azkaban, shivering and scared. It had been dark then too. His parents were still warm in their graves. He was 18. 18 and he had already killed. He had already seen his parents killed for his mistakes. _I'm just a boy, I'm just a boy,_ like a mantra it rushed through his hysterical mind. But he already knew it wasn't true.

He counted the days for several months, painstakingly carving on the walls. He still had no concept of eternity. He was a young man, and he would be locked in that room until he died, he understood later. But for the first few months he still had hopes of waking up as a boy again.

Once a month the prisoners' were separated into groups and were sent to socialize for several hours. Draco was a murder and a death eater, but he was too insignificant to be considered 'high security' was therefore had the misfortune of being included in these activities.

The first time he was sent to the community room Draco was beaten unconscious but not before seeing things. He vomited and cried when he was finally returned to his room. He was a Death Eater, worth less than the devil to criminal inmates. So he was beaten. And he was

(saved)

lucky. The following months he managed to sustain injuries violent enough to put him in the infirmary and keep him away from the community room. After several months the guards stopped even trying. And there was silence and solitude and only the madness of his own mind.

'Malfoy, Malfoy, would you listen to me when I talk to you?' Draco started as if he was slapped. 'Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been sharp with you. Truce?' George extended his hand and Draco took it. He nodded, looking up at the Weasly with large eyes. There was a foreign swelling in his chest and a pressure behind his eyes. Was this gratitude and friendship. George ruffled his hair. 'Atta boy,' he gave him a half smile that had no chance of reaching his eyes and discreetly wiped his hands on his pants.

'Truce,' Draco said mildly.

'Right, well, back in the car, shall we?' George stood, ushering Draco back to their vehicle. He helped Draco with the seat belt before starting the engine and pulling off the ferry. 'Only an hour until we get you home.' Draco felt his heart accelerate in his breast.

'Home? The manor?' He wasn't even sure he could stand to visit his family home, let alone live there. Too much had happened.

'I'm sorry. I misspoke. I meant your new home. I'm sorry to say it, Malfoy but I don't think you'll ever be going there again.' He cleared his throat. 'But I think you'll be happy here. You'll love the country. It's,' he paused, 'diverting.'

'Will Potter be there?' George did not respond to him for a long while.

'Be good to him.'

'What?'

'Harry,' George elaborated. 'Be good to him. He – he deserves it.' Draco swallowed.

'Could you pull over?'

'What?' George glanced over at him.

'I – I feel ill, please stop the car.' The car crept to a halt, the engine idling quietly. Draco fumbled with the seat belt but opened the door easily this time. He swallowed his throat and mouth dry as he stepped into the dirt on the side of the road. His head ached and his vision blurred around the edges. There was nothing for miles, but he did not consider running.

'Weasley,' he stumbling back toward the car that swam in front of his eyes. 'George, please, I need-'

And suddenly the ground was rushing up to greet him. From miles away he could hear George yelling at him. Somehow he found himself in the car again, the rocking of the vehicle adding to his nausea and dizziness. He could vaguely hear George yelling from a distance. The words floated past him, but they made little sense. Phrases like 'Please, Merlin' and 'not again' rushed around him as he struggled against the assailing waters of unconsciousness. He feared what he would find if he sunk below.

The car slammed on its breaks and the seat belt caught Draco as he slipped forward in his seat. George was screaming for Harry and a bust of cold hit his left shoulder, the seat belt was gone. And then someone was holding him. Holding him like he was precious and fragile. Like he was worth protecting.

'What happened?' He felt more than heard, from the chest of the man holding him.

'I don't know, Harry. I let him out of the car for a breather and he passed out!' There was a sharp curse from the man holding him, Harry, Draco could only assume.

'Draco,' he crooned. 'Draco. Can you hear me?' Draco tightened his grip on Harry's shoulder to indicate that he had. 'You're safe now, Draco. I'm going to take care of you.' And Draco trusted. And he allowed himself to sink.

* * *

You still with me? Yes? Awesome! Ok, this is kind of important. As you've noticed the characters are just about unrecognizable, and defiantly not consistent, sometimes Draco is a brat just like he was in school, and sometimes he's a kicked puppy. And George is, well, dark, mean and not fun at all. Let me explain. The story is going to get less angsty, I keep promising, but in about two chapters it will be less, I just about promise. All of these characters have been through a lot. George lost Fed, Harry lost Sirius and Remus and Draco lost just about everything. So they're all kind of messed up and their really not who they use to be. In that mind set this story is kind of like the cliché post-whatever story. So if you still wanna note how a character is still really screwed up, that's totally fine, I might not always transfer them from my head to the page correctly, but just keep this in mind.

That monologue said, review? Please? I'll love you forever.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

I'm sorry again. I had every intention of getting this out to you guys two weeks ago, but things have been crazy. It got half written before I got hit with a lot of homework (and hangovers.) But I put off my midterm papers to get this to you guys with the aid of lots of Taylor Swift and Leona Lewis (the music I only listen to when I'm sad.) I did get all your wonderful reviews, but I honestly haven't had time to respond. I will however get those out to you in the next few days. But, until then, just know that I appreciate your support and I'll answer all your questions and/or concerns.

* * *

Draco woke up screaming. He clawed at the hand on his forehead and writhed even while a persistent force tried to restrain him. His body shuddered and suddenly froze. There was a pressure against his shoulder and heavy panting against his neck. Then the pressure was gone and Draco was glancing into Harry's emerald eyes.

'I'm sorry about this,' Harry murmured, pushing Draco's hair away from his face. 'You need a bath. If I release the spell will you be able to bathe yourself?' Harry released just Draco's head and neck, and there was silence. 'Well? Can you bathe yourself?' Draco snarled at his completely emotionless face and dead, hollow eyes.

'Let me go, Potter.'

'Can you bathe yourself, Draco?' Harry repeated in the same, steady, irritating voice that seemed to exhibit infinite patience.

'I can bathe myself. I'm not an animal.' Harry sighed heavily and brushed his fingers across Draco's cheek before flicking his wrist and breaking the spell. Draco, now free to turn his head inspected the room.

He found himself tucked into a small bed with neat quilted blankets and embroidered pillows. A lumpy mattress sprawled lazily over a sturdy, oak frame. Worn wood floors were veiled with the occasional hand woven rug. The room itself was snug. There was a dresser, desk and nightstand that smartly matched the bed frame. It was comforting, warm, welcoming with the pale yellow walls and lace curtains. It was-

'What lack of class and taste. What is this? A rustic cottage? It more closely resembles a quarters hut, Potter.' Harry's face did not change or express any hint of displeasure or annoyance at Draco's words and Draco found that this enraged him. He was annoyed and more than a little afraid of this calm, even tempered vision. Potter had been many things in school, but he never was reserved or tranquil.

'Weasellette must love it. I bet she even designed this room. She probably demanded it right after you were married.' Draco sniped while trying to level himself off the bed. Harry only held up his hand showing his ring less finger. 'Not married them? Well, well, well, Potter. I never expected you would be one to live in sin.'

'Ginny and I are not a couple.' Harry said putting a gentle hand under Draco's shoulder, pulling the frail man to his feet where his knees sagged but did not fail.

'I don't need your help. Let go of me!' But harry did not let go and led Draco through an adjoined door into the bathroom.

'Will you be able to handle yourself?' Harry asked and there was no response. The door closed with a resounding boom and Draco jumped – frightened. Clay tiles were chill beneath his bare feet. Draco stumbled forward toward the white porceline bathtub which tapered down to animal claw legs. There was a toilet to his right and a sink to his left. Draco reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. He quickly tossed on the ground. His hands dipped to his protruding hips, where he fumbled with the drawstring of his pants. They too fell into the pile. Draco shivered and rubbed at the goose pimpled on his arms. He slipped for a moment while he stepped closer to the tub. He stared at the faucet and the faucet stared back at him. Draco flicked at one of the knobs with a red 'H' imprinted on it. The metal rang lightly in the air.

'Water,' Draco announced. Nothing happened. 'Turn on.' Still nothing happened. And Draco waited, growing more panicked. A knock came upon the door and Draco started.

'Draco, are you alright in there?' Draco flicked at the knobs again, hoping it would spontaneously begin to flow.

'I'm fine. Go away.' But Potter, Draco discovered, was just as stubborn as ever.

'Do you need some help?'

'No, Potter, I'm fine.' There was a pause.

'I'm coming in. Cover up.'

'What? No!' But the door was already opening and Draco just had time to cup his balls before Harry was coming in. 'What do you think you're doing? Get out of here at once.' Harry ignored him knelt beside the tub. Draco watched, transfixed while Harry pulled up his leaves and twisted the hot and cold knobs in turn. The loud rush of water disturbed Draco and he shuffled back until his spine bumped against the wall. Harry tested the water before wedging and unfamiliar white object into the hole at the bottom of the tub. Harry glanced over at Draco as the tub filled, his hands still submerged in the water.

'Come on,' he nodded his head towards the tub. 'You'll catch cold.'

'I'm not bathing with you in the room,' Draco said immediately. Harry watched him for a moment before standing and drying his dripping hand on the front of his jeans. Draco found himself transfixed at the darkening hand prints. Harry rooted around in the cupboard beneath the sink for a moment. Harry righted himself and returned to the tub with a pale blue bottle which he mostly emptied into the tub. Draco watched as the blue gel spread through the water, leaving bubbles in its wake like a disease.

'A bubble bath,' Draco sneered incredulously. He tried to be harsh and insult Harry for his delicate sensitivities' that made him think a bubble bath was what he needed. Instead tears pricked unbidden from somewhere in the fathomless depths behind his eyes.

'Come on,' Harry ushered him toward the tub and Draco saw a gentleness in his eyes and came. Harry helped Draco into the tub, the bubbles pooping soothingly against his skin, hiding his malnourished body beneath the silky white veil of the bath. Harry reached for a wet sponger and wetted Draco's hair. A warm wave of water dribbled down his back and Draco shuddered. And then Draco was 5 years old again, a smiling child with chubby cheeks mismatched to a kinky, thin frame. And it was his nanny bathing him, calling him Master 'Bama and crooning to him in French. Harry was massaging shampoo into his hair and Draco was crying the teas blending in with the suds' that slid down his forehead and harry would chase with soapier hands.

'Lean back. It's ok, I have you.' And he did. Draco felt the pressure behind his neck that held his head above water while Harry's other hand raked through his hair. Draco stared into his eyes, but Harry did not return his gaze. Instead he watched the blond hair that floated on the surface of the water, just beneath the darkening suds.

'How old am I,' Draco asked. Harry took his time to respond, first lifting Draco out of the water to begin to wash his hair a second time.

'You're 20 years old, Draco,' Harry said, the gentleness gone from his voice to be replaced with that same lifeless tone.

'20 years old,' Draco repeated. But he wasn't, he was five and Harry was just another nanny who almost

(But never quite)

Loved him.

Again Harry asked Draco to lean back and rinsed out his hair again. This time the soap came out clean. Draco watched with more than a little concern as Harry reached for yet another bottle and began rubbing that into Draco's hair. Draco was so entranced for the rich smell of lavender that he didn't notice when Harry began to soaping his back.

'Hey! What do you think you're doing,' Draco shrieked, jerking away from Harry's hand, sending a wave of sudsy, warm water to break on the tile floor.

'I need to clean these scars before they get infected.' Draco felt hands move across his back and bit his lip and repressed a shudder. Magic tingled across his back, sticking together his torn skin and erasing the blooming purple bruises under his skin. Harry's hands sunk lower. Dipping beneath the lapping bathwater to wash Draco's lower back. Draco did shudder this time, his eyes slipping closed. It was, after all been a very long time since someone had touched him gently. Those hands moved up his back again, scrubbing his shoulders and down his arms, first the left then the right. Draco moaned lightly at the gentle caress and felt something stir in the depths of his stomach. There was moment of confusion before he panicked.

'Potter, give me the soap. I am perfectly capable of bathing myself.' There was a moment of hesitation where Harry continued to draw idol shapes across the bump at the nape of his neck.

'All right,' was the short answer. And then Harry's warm hands were gone and Draco wanted to beg for them to be back on his skin, working away the past years. Harry handed Draco the soap and leaned back on his heels. 'Well?' Draco scowled and grabbed at the soap, angrily scrubbing at his thighs, the way he had the few times he had been permitted to shower in Azkaban.

'You're going to hurt yourself,' Harry mused. Draco paid no attention until a gentle hand wrapped around his and slowed his furious pace. 'Alright?' Harry asked again, but Draco thought he could see some humor in his eyes. Draco swallowed and finished washing his legs and chest. Then there was a pressure behind his head and Harry was dipping him back in the water to rinse away the conditioner that smelled of lavender. Harry pulled on the chain connected to the odd white plug, there was a gushing sound and the water began to drain away.

'Come here,' he ushered, tugging Draco to his feet. Draco was only half away of his slightest of erections as Harry reached for the towels wrapping one around Draco's shoulders and the other one he preceded to washing him off with.

'Where are my cloths?' Draco said stupidly, looking for his soiled jersey and pants.

'They're gone.'

'What do you mean they're gone? Those were my cloths! I can't walk around in a towel.' Harry ignored him and contented himself with drying Draco's hair.

'You have new cloths,' he gestured over to the counter where a pair of slacks and a pale blue button down waited for him. Draco swallowed thickly.

'I can't wear those.'

'And why not?'

'Because they aren't mine, Potter,' said, nearly hysterical.

'Neither was your Azkaban issued attire.' Harry grasped Draco's hands, forcing the blond to look at him. 'These cloths are yours now, Draco. Everything I give you is rightfully yours and no one can take them away.' And Draco believed him. He berated himself for believing him, but he still did. 'There now, let's get you dressed.' Draco thought to protest for being treated like a child but found he didn't have the heart to and instead helped Harry dress him, thankful that his erection had subsided in his panic. Harry led him out of the bathroom and bedroom into a quaint kitchen.

'I would assume you're hungry?' Draco could only nod as Harry ladled soup into a plain white bowl. A door bang open and Draco glanced up to see George standing in the door way.

'Harry, a word?' Harry nodded and handed Draco soup and a spoon.

'I'll be right back,' he said, sweeping past Draco through a door that presumably led him out of the house. Draco felt fear settle into his stomach. The kitchen grew progressively more frightening without Harry. Still, he began to eat, the hot soup feeling exquisite on his tongue. He was hungry, oh, so hungry.

Then he heard it.

George said something angrily. Harry was pleading. Their voices grew louder, and Harry grew progressively angrier.

The spoon trembled in his hand and Draco felt his stomach churn, threatening to up ends itself at the slightest movement. Harry was screaming now, his words hard to discern.

Draco heard his scream from outside of himself, his ears disconnected from the mouth screaming. The chair fell out from under him and the soup slipped from his hands, crashing to the floor with the shattering of china. Draco screamed, and screamed and screamed and screamed. Footsteps were approaching, but he couldn't stop. Strong hands gripped his shoulders and Draco could see blood running when where the broken china had cut his palms.

'Draco,' Harry was calling to him. But, like a man possessed, Draco couldn't stop himself from screaming. Then Harry was whispering something and the world melted away.

* * *

Another thing I should probably note is the party about Draco felling 5 again is a shameless lease from the Dark Tower, and in fact, does not have anything to do with our current president here in the U.S. So, reviews are love! And I will respond to them ASAP. Thanks for reading! Things will make more sense soon. Oh! Another reason this took so long is because I realized there is no way its going to be 5 chapters long, it will be at least 10, so I needed to change a lot of my notes.


	4. Chapter 4

Authors Note: I apologize to everyone reading this story for my uh...prolonged absence. College decided to be special and got in my way. But I assure you new post will be coming soon! I thank all of you for your input and inspiration! Thank you! I added a little bit of boy love for you guys, but, its a little limited. It had to fit into the plot you know.

* * *

Chapter 4

* * *

It was night again when Draco woke like one who dreams. Harry was not near him and he felt disquieted by this. The floorboards bit at his feet while he stepped out of bed. There was only the occasional creak in the predawn stillness and the strange darkness of his life seemed to swirl around Draco like water.

"Harry?" He whispered hoarsely, creeping into the main house and a neat living area.

'Draco, you fool, it's the middle of the night, and of course he won't be awake.' And he wasn't. Draco could see him slouched against the couch, a cup of tea dangling from his finger – its contents' long since spilled on the carpet. There was a clenching in his stomach and Draco couldn't help but turn away.

"Idiot, you'll catch your death and I'll be blamed of course."

Gently he took the tea cup away, returning it to its saucer. It was a self satisfying act; Draco tried to explain to himself as he dropped a blanket around the sleep prone man. If harry was silly, enough to die from the cold Draco would have a free ride back to Azkaban. He grimaced. Harry had waved his right to a lawyer or any representation. So he dutifully tucked in the man he was so determined to hate. Draco felt an unfamiliar tug in his stomach and to satisfy the urge he brushed Harry's unruly locks away from his brow.

"Honestly, Potter," he muttered to himself. It was not the disgraceful length of Harry's hair that gave him a start (quite hypocritical considering his own hair was long and thin from horror and malnutrition) but the frigid pallor of his skin. "Honestly, Potter," he repeated. Draco looked around, looking for a solution. But the room just seemed cold and his room just looked colder. So with a sigh, Draco lifted the edge of the blanket and crawled under, making sure to keep a few inches between them. Still he could feel the sucking cold of Harry's body. Draco had hoped to fall asleep again but had not expected it, so he was pleasantly surprised when a sense of calm content washed over him and he surrendered to sleep.

* * *

"I hate toast," Draco whined, when Harry dropped a piece of bread into the frying pan.

"I know," Harry said distractedly. Draco found himself astounded by the completely muggle way Harry cooked. There were at least four pans crammed on his small stove.

"Then why are you cooking it?" Harry made a grunting sound and transferred an omelet from the pan to a plate just seconds before it would begin to burn.

"Because, perhaps," he dropped the plate onto the table before Draco with another grunt. "They are intended for someone else." Draco poked the omelet with mild loathing.

"Who else would they be for?" Harry cracked an uncharacteristic smile and Draco felt something stir in his chest. Then the porridge began to boil and Harry ripped away his gaze. "Is it so surprising that I might intend to eat breakfast as well," he said, rescuing the oatmeal and shifting it to smartly matching bowls. With fast reflexes he caught the tea pot just as it started to boil, pouring it into two mugs of varying size and tossing in the tea bags as an afterthought.

"No. I – I didn't think you ate toast. You never ate it at school. I thought perhaps you might be expecting other company." There was another dark chuckle.

"Just because Ron eats anything within a five foot radius of him doesn't mean I dislike toast. Do eat your breakfast, Draco. I assure you you'll find it satisfactory." Turning away from Harry's piercing eyes he gratefully accepted the distraction. Harry had been right, the food was delicious. His stomach ached for more – a full meal, a real meal. Harry sipped his tea and picked at his toast.

"Where is Weasley." Draco asked between his omelet and porridge. Harry regared him quietly before responding.

"We don't talk much any more." Draco looked up at Harry and watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed.

"Why?" He meant not to ask but the words tumbled out despite his best efforts to stifle the question. Harry smiled and Draco shuddered.

"He thinks I've gone mad." He grinned smugly. "Do you think I'm mad, Draco?" Draco tried to wallow but the porridge had turned to cement in his throat. Morning was still bright outside but he suddenly felt cold.

"Mad? Why does he think you're mad?" Harry looked at him and for a moment there was so much raw pain in that expression that Draco understood. But then Harry turned his gaze back to his tea.

"I suppose it's because I wanted no part in my fame." Chants and jeers and out in his head and Draco winced away from the memories of their rivalry. Harry's fame had always been a sore point between them.

"Why did you bring me here?" That look came again and with it the burning, burning eyes. And again Draco knew and then Harry answered, saying something about a blood vow and Draco believed. Because really, Draco would have believed anything. He was so thirsty for the truth in a world of swimming lies. And plus, Harry's explanation was so much more convenient because really, no matter how strange the world was Harry Potter really couldn't –

"Draco?" Harry asked him softly. A wave of nausea passed over him, gripping his throat tightly. "Draco," the ton was sharper now and Draco sensed Harry at his elbow as the room spun and twirled. Harry's voice came again but this time Draco could not hear over the blood in his ears. He tried to stand, but then his stomach was heaving and vomit dribbled down his chin. Draco stared at the grey splatter on the plate before the heaving came again.

He shoved against the table and fell to the floor. He tried to escape himself, but still the heaving continued even after vomit turned into bile and bile turned into air. There was a pressure on his back and Draco knew Harry was there, pulling his too-long hair away from his face. He wrapped him tightly in his own boy when tears replaced the dry heaving. Draco looked down at himself and could not help but begin to cry harder.

He struggled against Harry, desperately seeking to push him away, to hide from the horror that he was. But Harry continued to hold him, rocking Draco I n his arms. The sobs and the struggling stopped, surrendering first one then the other. Draco continued to whimper, feeling hysterical whenever he opened his eyes to the vomit on his cloths and the floor. He tried to speak – to apologize – but Harry stopped his stuttering with a soft cooing. There was a shifting and Draco realized Harry was picking him up, lifting him like he was not more than five. Draco couldn't help but cry again. His tears stung his cheeks with shame.

"Shhh, it's alright," Harry crooned, moving too gracefully for Draco's liking. Either Harry was too strong or Draco weighed too little. Either way he was troubled by how pathetic he seemed – how pathetic he was. In only a few steps they were back in the bathroom and Draco was stuck with a sense of Déjà vu.

Harry set him down on the toilet seat to turn on the water and Draco began to wonder if his life was just to become a cycle, if fate was cruel enough to be a wheel. There was a gentle tugging and his shirt was scraping across his scalp, carefully keeping the soiled font away from his face. Draco was aware that Harry was trying to keep him as clean as possible. There was a wet sound as the shirt landed in the corner and Harry started on Draco's pants. He stared at the billowing steam as harry removed his trousers and began to undress himself.

"What are you doing?" he asked with little interest.

"Undressing," came the reply and Draco found he had no response to this. When he was completely naked he opened the shower curtain and tugged Draco into the scalding water. Harry stepped into the bath after him and Draco thought the water felt cold compared to the heat radiating from Harry. Then Harry's hands were on him, scrubbing him with the same single-minded dedication he'd had the last time they were in the same situation.

Draco hardly moved, scarcely breathed. There was a war inside him; he could feel it in his chest. He did not know who was fighting, or what it was concerning, but it worried him. He had lost his ability to understand himself. He had become a ghost in his own body. Gently, Harry turned him around. The water had left an angry, red scald mark across his chest and abdomen. Harry gently traced the sensitive spot, watching it already begun to fade.

Draco shuffled back and Harry drew himself out of a trance. He instead reached for a wash cloth and gently washed Draco's face, taking time to rinse the rag under the shower's spray. Draco watched Harry's eyes as they drew across his face. Harry's eyes dropped with the washcloth to his nose, then his lips until the turning of the earth drew him in and he kissed the crescent shaped dimple that grew when his lips fell open. There was a shudder. Then his lips moved to press against a cheek, then a brow, then a nose. Then cautiously

(ashamed)

He pressed his lips against the other pair before him.

"Ron was right, I believe. I am quite mad." He kissed Draco again. And then the water ran cold.

* * *

"Harry what are you doing?" George asked in an angry whisper.

"Keep your voice down. I don't want a replay of last night."

"I don't think you understand what you're getting yourself into. He's a Deatheater, Harry! He should be rotting in Azkaban!"

"That's fine, do you have the documents?" George stared at him before tossing a thickly bound document on the coffee table. Harry continued to sip his tea calmly without flinching at the loud slap of paper hitting the Cheery wood finish.

"What happened in the kitchen?"

"He isn't use to eating regular food. I might have upset him." George groaned tracing a circle around the scar tissue where his ear once was, a habit he'd grown accustomed to over the past years.

"He's a Deatheater," he said again, angrier this time.

"What wouldn't you do to have Fred back?" Harry didn't look-up but he heard the backdoor slam. Several minutes passed in silence before he heard footsteps approaching the kitchen.

"Harry," he heard timidly from the doorway.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" Draco awkwardly scratched the back of his neck.

"Fine. I – um – I wanted to say thanks, for everything." Harry swallowed thickly.

"You don't have to thank me I did what anyone would do." Draco sat down beside him.

"No one else came for me." A thick silence fell around them, as they sat, two orphans to the world.

"What's this?" Draco jabbed at the heavy document with his finger.

"Just some legal forms. You don't have to worry about it."

"So that's how it is? I don't even have to sign the papers that exchange me?" Draco was disturbed by his lack of anger and the calm that swept over him upon this realization.

"I'm sorry," Harry murmured, slicing through the murky silence. "I'm sorry for what the world has become." Draco simply nodded.

"So am I."


End file.
